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xngine
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because it’s cold
I can see the cloud shapes you speak into air
as you again say things or don’t
about what I am and we are not
not with my ears, I see the shapes evaporate
dissipating into elsewhere
cooling fast, struggling accumulate against the rest of the atmosphere
That clings saidly to the weak gravity our low mass affords
and what comes next will either be more
something similar
something else
but will likely not matter
those clouds become unhearable
over the din of my aliveness
over the din of our futility
they are words only
and all the not words will continue
and swallow everything
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